Bad Dreams (2 page)

With their red hair and green eyes, she and Andrea looked a lot alike. But the same features that made Maggie pretty—the green eyes, the red hair, the high cheekbones—just didn't fit together right on Andrea.

Maggie was tall and thin; Andrea shorter with a broadness in her shoulders that bordered on stocky. Also, Maggie's long red hair was thick and wavy. Andrea's shoulder-length hair was fine and always hung limp and straight, no matter what she did.

Looks weren't Maggie's only advantage. Maggie had always been one step ahead of her sister in everything—grades, sports, guys.

There was no doubt about it, she thought sadly. This move was going to be harder on Andrea than any of them.

After all, Andrea had never been very popular at school, and the one thing she felt she had going for her was that she was a North Hills girl.

North Hills was the most exclusive section of Shadyside. Andrea liked the status of North Hills. She loved hanging out at the country club. Maggie
winced when she remembered how Andrea and her friends had snubbed kids from other parts of town.

Well, now they were leaving North Hills far behind. And all the kids Andrea had snubbed over the years would have the last laugh.

I will not argue with my sister, Maggie told herself. I will not, I will not, she thought, as if her mind were a blackboard and some teacher had assigned her to write the words over and over.

Maggie still felt guilty. And the feeling came back every time she argued with Andrea.

She'd been arguing with Andrea the day their dad died.

So dumb. There wasn't any milk for cereal that morning.

Andrea blamed Maggie for finishing the milk the night before. Maggie protested that she hadn't touched the milk. Then Andrea called her a liar.

They were off in an angry torrent of words. Maggie found herself reminding Andrea of things that had happened years before. Like the time when Andrea was seven and she had set fire to the hair on Maggie's favorite Barbie doll.

Then Andrea started yelling that Maggie had ruined her life. She sputtered angry nonsense about how Maggie stole any guy she was interested in.

By then, they were shrieking at each other and Andrea was crying. And then Mr. Travers told Maggie to stop picking on her sister. That made Maggie so mad, she dumped her bowl of dry cereal on the floor.

It was one of the great injustices in Maggie's life. Andrea could have a tantrum, scream, cry, break plates, whatever. Everyone was used to her fits.

But let Maggie lose it one little bit, and her parents acted as if the whole house had blown up.

Right after she had dumped the cereal, Maggie felt ashamed.

Her dad's face turned bright red. “I am so fed up with this bickering!” he yelled. “Really, Maggie. Why can't you act your age?”

Then he scooted his chair back, tossed down his newspaper, and stormed out of the house.

That was the last time Maggie saw him.

Mr. Travers had a stroke that afternoon in his office while sitting at his desk. When his secretary found him, he was already dead.

I never even got a chance to apologize, Maggie thought bitterly.

They were still sitting at the intersection. “Well,” Mrs. Travers said, sighing, “we should try
something.”
She turned left.

“Of
course
you listen to Maggie,” Andrea griped.

Gus barked twice.

“That's right, Gus,” Mrs. Travers said, “you tell them.” To her daughters, she added, “Gus wants you two to stop bickering.”

Despite the tension between them, Maggie and Andrea shared a quick grin. Their mother's belief in the knowledge and wisdom of animals was legendary in the Travers family.

The Traverses' mailbox was always stuffed with
mailings from all the animal rights groups Mrs. Travers had once given money to. She was
always
telling them what Gus was thinking.

“I hope we're not getting close to our new house,” Andrea murmured, staring out the window. “Please tell me this isn't where we're going to be living.”

Andrea was right, Maggie thought. The house had looked pretty bad the day Mom drove them over to see it. But that day it had been pouring, and they figured it was the rain that made the house and the neighborhood so gloomy.

Somehow today's bright sunshine just made the neighborhood seem even drearier. All the houses needed to be painted. They were all so shabby, so run-down.

“Welcome to burglar city,” Andrea joked, pretending to do a tour-guide voice. “Our neighborhood is proud to announce we have one of the highest crime rates in the country.”

Maggie laughed, but she could feel her heart fluttering. The thought of burglars had always terrified her, even when they were living in North Hills, where break-ins were almost unheard of.

Mrs. Travers frowned. “I know this part of town isn't the greatest, girls,” she said, “but it's all we can afford now.” She forced a smile. “Anyway, we've got old Gus to protect us.”

Right, thought Maggie. If a robber broke in, Gus would be all over him. But the only danger for the robber would be that Gus might lick him on the lips and gross him out!

“Look!” Maggie cried suddenly, pointing to the
green sign tilted into the intersection. “Fear Street! We found it! We're not lost after all!”

Mrs. Travers cheered. Maggie felt a surge of relief. Her good mood lasted until she saw the house.

Twenty-three Fear Street seemed even more ramshackle and neglected than it had the last time. Two of the green shutters were now hanging by single rusty hinges. The lawn had huge brown patches and looked dead. As did the whole place.

Maggie shivered.

The big white moving van was parked out front, and men were carrying furniture up the front walk. Maggie watched two burly men in green uniforms disappear through the front door, struggling with her dresser. She wanted to tell them to turn around, to bring everything back to North Hills. But this was home now.

Mrs. Travers turned in her seat to face her daughters. She was smiling, but under the smile Maggie saw worry. “Girls,” she said, “I know it doesn't look like much, but when we have more money, we can paint it and fix it up and plant some flowers and it really will look quite nice. You wait and see. Besides, fixing it up will be fun.”

Maggie forced a smile. The move was hard on her mom too, she knew. “Well,” Maggie said, clapping her hands together, “let's get started.”

She climbed out of the car and stretched. Gus was thumping his tail against the backseat, watching her every move. “Just a second, Gus,” she told him.

Mrs. Travers waved to the moving men. “We got a little lost,” she called.

The workers didn't even nod back. “Mom,” Maggie said, tugging on her arm, “I need the trunk key.”

They had brought their valuables and clothes in the car. Maggie inserted the key into the lock, popped open the trunk, and started unloading suitcases. She pulled out her green bag and carefully set it down on the sidewalk.

Gus was barking like crazy. Andrea leaned against the car, staring into space. “Andrea, you going to give us a hand here?” Mrs. Travers asked sharply.

Making a face, Andrea walked over and selected the smallest—and lightest—bag. She instantly thumped it back down on the sidewalk. “Oh, poor Gus,” she said, opening the car door. “You must be dying of the heat in there.”

“Wait, Andrea, not yet,” Maggie warned.

Too late.

Gus burst out of the car. He started running in circles around Andrea's legs. Then he raced over to Mrs. Travers, jumping up on her, then over to Maggie.

“Easy, Gus,” Maggie told him. The next thing she knew, Gus was running off down the block. Maggie had her hands full of suitcases. “Gus!” she yelled.

The dumb dog didn't stop.

“Quick, Andrea. Go get him!” cried Mrs. Travers.

“It's
Maggie's
dog,” replied Andrea peevishly. “Let
Maggie
get him.”

Maggie started to point out that Andrea was the one who had let Gus out. But she saw the annoyance
on her mother's face.
“I'll
get him,” she said, sighing.

She dropped the suitcases and started to run after Gus. He was down at the end of the block, “decorating” somebody's hedge. “Gus!” she yelled again.

He didn't even pick his head up to listen. He trotted on.

She ran faster.

She was running flat out, her sneakers smacking the pavement hard.

Gus had turned the corner, out of sight. “Gus!” she yelled again.

Then she reached the corner. And slid to a halt.

Gus was ambling across a lawn on the other side of the street. But when he saw Maggie, he started running straight toward her.

He took the shortest route.

Right through the middle of the street.

Right into the path of a speeding delivery truck.

“Gus—
stop!”
Maggie shrieked.

She shut her eyes and heard the dog's shrill yelp of pain.

T
ires squealed. A horn blared. The truck skidded.

With the dog's pitiful yelp still in her ears, Maggie screamed.

Without realizing it, she had clamped her hands over her eyes. Trembling all over, she slowly removed them—and stared at Gus, standing shaken but unhurt, on the sidewalk.

The poor dog, she realized, must have yelped in fear—not pain.

The truck had stopped several yards ahead. The driver leaned out, his round face red with fury. “Get that stupid mutt on a leash!” he bellowed.

“Sorry,” Maggie called. But when the truck took off, she let out a whoop of joy.

“Oh, Gus! You're okay! You're okay!” She fell to her knees, her arms thrown open wide. “Gus! Come here, boy!”

Gus came trotting over obediently. She threw her long arms around the dog's graying head and hugged him tightly. “Sure,” she murmured,
“now
you're obedient.”

Gus waited patiently until Maggie finally let him go. This time she kept a firm grip on his collar.

Panting with his mouth open, the dog looked as if he were smiling. Maggie kissed the top of Gus's head.

I couldn't bear another death in the family, she thought grimly. I just couldn't bear it.

Maggie led Gus back to the house and in through the front door. She bumped into a moving man coming the other way.

“Watch it!” he muttered rudely.

As soon as Maggie let Gus go free, the old dog took off, sniffing everywhere, exploring the new house. He ran into the living room, where Andrea was relaxing on the Travers's white-and-gray-striped sofa. The sofa looked lost in the empty room.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Travers was scrubbing away at the soot and dust and grime on the stovetop. Mrs. Travers could be spacey about a lot of things, but when it came to dirt, she was focused—a cleaning machine.

She waved a yellow-rubber-gloved hand at Maggie and Andrea. “Well,” she said, “I think I've made some important archaeological discoveries in the kitchen. We've got about ten layers of dirt in here!”

Maggie gazed at her sister, whose features were
tight with unhappiness. “Andrea,” she said gently, “why don't we start setting up our rooms? We'll probably feel better when we've got our own stuff in them.”

“I doubt it,” Andrea grumbled. But she trudged upstairs after Maggie.

“Now, don't get discouraged about how it looks,” their mom called after them. “It just needs a little dusting. I'll be up there as soon as I finish in the kitchen.”

It was going to take more than dusting to make this place livable, Maggie thought. The wallpaper in the hall was supposed to be white with a rose pattern. But the paper had yellowed and was peeling, and the roses looked as if they had died.

She turned right at the top of the stairs. Their bedrooms were at the end of the hall. She led the way and turned right into the room she had chosen while Andrea turned left into hers.

“Whoa!” Maggie uttered a low cry and stopped in the doorway.

There it stood.

A beautiful, old-fashioned four-poster canopy bed.

Dark, polished wood. And with a pink canopy on top.

“Oh, my goodness!” Maggie whispered. She blinked. As if to make sure the bed was real, she crossed the room and sat down on it.

“Unbelievable,” she said softly. The previous owners had left the bed behind!

But why? Why did they leave the bed and nothing else?

What a mystery.

“You've got to be kidding!” Andrea exclaimed from the doorway. She had heard Maggie's delighted cries.

Maggie stood up and gestured to the bed, grinning. “Can you believe it?”

Andrea was circling the bed now, her mouth open. She ran her hands down the old wooden posts. “How could they leave this?”

Maggie shook her head. “I don't know. Maybe they didn't like it anymore.”

Even as she said it, the explanation seemed silly. How could
anyone
not like this bed?